


Yours, Albus

by callmesir_professor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 17:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16045505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmesir_professor/pseuds/callmesir_professor
Summary: It's a late, hot British summer. Albus and Gellert are finding solace in each other's company. Soon it develops into more...but how long can it really last?





	Yours, Albus

_‘The idea of a teenage Dumbledore was simply odd, like trying to imagine a stupid Hermione or a friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt.’_

 

**Chapter 1**

It was a late British summer. The clear sky thrummed with a heat that threatened to morph into something more oppressive. The grass was brittle and crunched underfoot, the air itched the skin with eager bites. Along a small track next to a barley field, there could be seen two figures ill-suited to the hot weather, judging from their long, black robes. One sat with his toes curled under his thighs, leaving his back partially supported by a mound of root vegetables ready to harvest. His ear gave an involuntary twitch.

“Taking too long.” He muttered to himself, or possibly to the equally oddly dressed companion beside him. The other man paused and cocked his head to one side, taking this information in. Where the seated figure was tanned and blonde his companion was pale and auburn. The paler figure rose to his feet from a crouched position, and it was clear from this that something in his proportioning was off slightly – he seemed to balance himself precariously upon his own spindly calves. It was as if he had undergone a growth spurt that encompassed his long owlish legs, and his soft, downy facial hair, but seemed to miss his torso entirely, which remained plump and boyish. The two men appeared accustomed to each other’s company, and the silences between them were filled with the background noises of the sprawling countryside, birds pecking overripe fruit burgeoning with sweetness overhead. The tall man finally said reproachfully:

“I know full well you have no idea how to do this, so it would do you good not to berate the only person here who knows how.”

The seated man just grunted, although the discerning linguist could perhaps have made out the phrase "Bugger off". At the very bottom of the pyramid of root vegetables forming the man’s backrest there emerged a third face, about half the size of a sugar beet. “Meow” The face exclaimed, before elongating itself with comical protuberance. It made another noise, seemingly to itself this time, turning around as if to check its back legs still existed. After a second stretch forward, it freed itself completely from the mound. The blonde man patted the arch of its back absent-mindedly.

“Hullo, treacle” he exclaimed. The cat stretched its hind legs upward to the sky and shivered. It considered the man, circling his folded legs before deciding to seat itself with the soft fur of its back pressing against the man’s thighs. It then set about scratching at the hole where it’s ear should have been.

“You’ll get all kinds of nonsense in there if you’re not careful” the man said, batting away a hovering insect. The feline paid no attention to this comment. The man turned back to his companion, who had been ignoring this exchange, instead intently focused on what was in his hands as a soft look spread across the pale features. His eyes held an unusual twinkle that couldn’t be attributed to the sun. He opened his hand to reveal a flint sharpened clumsily to a point. Its pearlescent sides caught the light, and the blonde-haired man’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

“Is it ready?”

“Not quite.” Came the reply. The pale man pulled out a stick from his robes and tapped the flint twice. He murmured softly whilst tapping, something that sounded like a half-forgotten song. He finished this with a louder and far more distinguishable annunciation of “ _portus_ ”. The lounging man sat up, causing the cat to look up at the man too. Two sets of eager eyes met the auburn haired mans as he drew his gaze away from the object in his hands.

“I can’t believe you found out how to do that” the man who had sat up said, in a slow voice. He met the tall figure’s gaze, and his eyes were suddenly alight with interest, as if seeing his companion for the first time. The pale man was the first to look away, a slight flush to his cheeks. He shrugged, but the casual gesture didn’t quite match the hesitant intake of breath at the near-praise.

“I told you I could.” In truth, he hadn’t known whether he would have been able to or not, but it was important that the other man not know that.

“Albus”. The man who had stood up took a step closer. “I knew you would.” Their eyes met again. The air, already heavy with heat, seemed to crackle with friction. “You’re a really powerful wizard.”

“Meow” came the indignant response from their ankles. Both broke the intensity of the gaze and looked down to see the small cat had wormed its way between their feet and was now frowning at them both, flicking its tail hither and thither in annoyance.

“Ah.” The man called Albus said. “I see you are rather eager for attention today, Treacle. Didn’t Bathilda feed you this morning?”

“She probably left it some scraps from that god-awful pie she keeps bringing round to you.” Said the other man, stooping to scratch behind the cat’s ear holes. “I’d leave it too, treacle.”

“I’m not sure she’s as discerning in her culinary tastes as you, Gellert” Albus responded, presumably to Gellert, though he remained looking firmly at the cat as he spoke. The blonde man, Gellert, narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You don’t really eat that stuff, do you?” Albus made no reply but winked at the small cat. The pair set off down the track, traversing past hay bales and other ripened crops waiting to be harvested, following the bobbing tail of the cat ahead.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that we leave most of our food production to muggles?” Gellert observed, stepping over a stray turnip. “We shouldn’t rely on them for something so simple, it makes us weaker.”

“My dear man, if you wanted to set up a grocery store, you would have my full support” said Albus. “I didn’t think harvesting carrots all day was really your thing, but I’m sure it has a certain rustic charm.”

“I can see your brother doing that actually” Gellert said. “Bet he’d love it, a countryside life forever. A wife and a heard of goats. He’s the type.”

“He’d be happy with just the goats.” Albus said.

“Not you, though.” Gellert observed. “You don’t want to stay here forever.” Albus’ stoic silhouette seemed to physically shrink, as if some internal fortitude was crumbling. He sighed. His eyes creased downwards.

“I…” he stopped. He didn’t seem certain of what he was about to say. “I want to be here for them I do, but…” he stopped himself, and seemed to swallow his genuine response.

“I’m not sure I could bear the goats.” He said instead.

After a pause in conversation that nearly lasted the length of the field they were traversing Gellert said quietly:

“You’re meant for more than this. A fool could see it.” Albus stayed silent. They came to the village outskirts, where their feline guide broke off from the path in front of them to turn down a side alley. The two men, rather than following, stopped outside a stone cottage, and Gellert leaned against the crumbling flint of the cottages’ garden wall which mirrored the flint Albus levitated out of his pocket with his wand.

“Here.” He rotated it, leaving it floating near both men’s’ waists.

“It’s as I thought- the wand work required to make a portkey uses a lot of the same elemental principles as transfiguration, but instead of focusing on aesthetic change you first imbibe the object with intention.”

“Swot.” said Gellert, without malice.

“Yes well, you’re grateful I am now, aren’t you?”

“It’s marvellous”. Gellert said. “Thank you. I know it took you a long time.”

“It took us a long time. You were of course a great help.” Albus put his hands in his pockets, and his demeanour seemed to shift a little.

“Well.” He said. He floated the stone over to Gellert. “This is it, I assume.” “This is what?” Gellert said, not taking the stone.

“Am I missing something?”

“I thought this…” Albus looked at his feet, and one observing might correctly surmise he did it to hide the slight involuntary crumpling of his eyelids at what he was about to say.

“I thought this might be goodbye.” Gellert just looked at him.

“What?”

“I mean… it’s been a splendid time, it’s the nicest summer I’ve had in a while…I just thought, you seemed, you know. You needed me to help make the portkey and I thought …you know. All the other friendly things, I thought perhaps they were just a kindness. To me, I mean. And that once I completed it, you would leave.” He looked as if he felt embarrassed to admit all this, which seemed much more flustered than his usual measured retorts. Gellert frowned.

“No.”

Albus paused.

“Ah.” He was considering something that seemed to want to burst out of him.

“Gellert, forgive my impertinence, but why do you accompany me? I’m out to pasture here, very literally. You could be doing anything. I admit I have some scholarly achievements, but you are years ahead of me. I’m certain even dear Elphias doesn’t want to see me now I’m stuck here.” He clenched his fists, betraying sharp emotion behind calm tones. Gellert pulled a bare arm from his robes, revealing its sinewy musculature, and curled a hand about Albus’ wrist.

“I’m here with you because I want to be.” He said simply. He moved his thumb slowly and purposefully against Albus’ arm, stroking the small patch of skin there, raising tiny hair follicles all along Albus’ forearm. “You excite me.”

Albus shivered. A smile too genuine to mask crept onto his face. He felt as if all his nerves were concentrated on the place where his thumb brushed back and forth. He swallowed. Gellert let the large, soft pad of his thumb trail over the raised hairs of Albus’ arm towards his fingers. The portkey dropped to the floor with a small thud beside them.

“Oh” Albus said. He had, for some reason, forgotten it was there. “Sorry”.

“Let me” Gellert said. He floated the portkey back up. He did not resume the stroking of Albus hand, and for a minute, Albus wanted to take back all of the weeks he spent researching how to make it, just so it wouldn’t have dropped it and the handsome man next to him would continue stroking his arm and tell him again how he was exciting.

“I want you to come with me.” Gellert said. “You can be home by the evening. You’ve done all this work.” Albus didn’t say anything, but the twinkle seemed to have returned to his eyes as he raised his head to make eye contact, which seemed easier now. He knew where he stood, he knew he was wanted. Perhaps wry humour hadn’t hidden his feelings as well as he had initially hoped.

“Alright. Let me just tell Aberforth.” He waved his wand and a silvery bird flew out of the end, large and imposing, it’s long neck extended. “Please inform Aberforth I’m going to be gone for the rest of the day, but I will return tonight. Ask him to kindly get Ariana her supper, I’ve got plenty of food leftover from yesterday’s picnic. And tell him if he has indeed tried to climb over Mrs. Ernstwhistle’s fence again, that I put the wards up myself, and that he is to use the cream in the lower bathroom cabinet for the boils.” Gellert’s laugh seemed to spill out of him.

“I’ve always favoured Shingles over boils. Seems more painful.”

“Ah. Yes. Although, I would suppose it depends whereabouts on one’s person the boils emerge.”

“You didn’t”. Albus said nothing but pursed his lips and extended his hand towards Gellerts, and Gellert, laughing, took it. Removing a protective charm, they touched the flint together, and blinked out of existence, leaving a backdrop of brambles and briar instead in their wake.

**Chapter 2**

With a loud pop they arrived in a dimly lit side-street. The pavement underfoot was cobbled and smooth, very unlike the jagged flint of the village they had just been standing in. It was still hot, but they were stood almost completely in the shade of a tall stone arch.

“Paris” Albus said. “Just a short walk away from our destination, but far enough so that the ministry can’t guess our purposes.” Gellert nodded.

“Point me” he charmed. His wand directed him to his left and he gestured at Albus to follow. They arrived ten minutes later at a charming detached residence set aside from the accessibility of the narrow streets. It was not unwelcoming, yet its discreet location gave an impression of world-weary avoidance. Gellert rapped on the door with his wand. Very rapidly, as if waiting on the other side, a very wizened old man with a slight paunch opened the door.

“Gellert Grindelwald!” He exclaimed with apparent delight “and…” He peered behind Grindelwald “Albus Dumbledore. My my, I haven’t seen you since you were at Hogwarts.” He turned and ushered them over the threshold.

“My apologies- forgive a reclusive old man. I have picked up so many bad habits in my old age it seems foolish to attempt to undo them now.”

“One is only as old as one feels, Nicolas”, Gellert grinned, and took a seat on a plush chintz armchair.

“Well- I feel about 600.” Nicholas replied. "I very well might be, I forgot my birthday at around 400. I just make one up now and celebrate it when I feel like cheering myself up”. From a low archway a little old lady with a stoop so low she was almost bent in half shuffled in. She was floating in front of her a beautiful brass tray filled with fresh coffee and cakes. She set down the tray and swatted at Nicholas.

“Ee ‘iz always making things up. Iz the 21st of May every year, ee just does not notice when it pazzes.” She tutted at her husband and brushed what may have been crumbs from his knee, then handed out the tea. Albus chuckled at Nicholas’ faux astonishment. Nicholas’ good spirits made much more sense to him now he had met Perenelle. It was love that kept him wanting to remain here, a centennial-crossing love that gave him purpose. He glanced at Gellert and suddenly felt very empty and put down his cup and saucer.

“So, what can I do for you.” Nicholas asked. He seemed uncurious to learn the details of their journey to Paris, which Albus wasn’t sure what to make of. Gellert leaned forward and took a slice of Battenberg. Albus briefly wondered why elderly people always seemed to enjoy sweet things so much.

“I’m looking into stone magic” Gellert said without preamble, with only the briefest of glances towards Albus. “And alchemy.”

“Well you’re in the right house.” Nicholas nodded. “Go on.”

“Albus has done a fair amount of digging around for me, but we found an ancient rite we were wondering about the properties of. We were thinking –a stone that gave eternal life would have to in a sense manufacture that life and impart that upon the user. Could such life-giving properties be imbibed elsewhere perhaps- into matter and memory?”

“Matter and memory are not solid concepts. What do you mean?”

“Could a stone not just extend life but bring it back?”

Nicholas sighed. “In theory. You are talking of the hallow stone I expect - an early inspiration of mine.”

“It exists?”

“I have no proof, but I expect it is possible, even likely. After all, the alchemical processes needed to alter matter in that way is very similar, as you have surmised, to my own magnum opus.”

“Ahem.” Perenelle glanced at her husband.

“Our magnum opus.” He corrected. She patted his thigh. “I saw a lot of your talents at Hogwarts” Nicholas said, turning to Albus. “I’m glad you boys have made friends- however, this is a uniquely challenging shared interest. What exactly are you hoping to do with this research?”

“To see whether we could…” Gellert began.

“Further our understanding of alchemical procedures.” Albus smoothly cut in. “Gellert and I were hoping to master the subject - it’s not taught anymore as you know, and we rather precociously thought we could try our hand at the renewal of teaching it.” “

Sorry?” Nicholas exclaimed.

“We all are when Albus starts on his mission statements.” Gellert drained his cup of coffee.

“No not at all, an admirable pursuit, both of you.” Nicholas seemed pleased to have inspired a younger generation of alchemists.

“I have in my library…” but he shuffled off without finishing the sentence, gone to retrieve whatever it was from the shelf. Perenelle fixed the pair with a shrewd eye.

“Ee is delighted to be sought after. I howezzer – I would be wary of delving too deeply into alchemy. Zee grass iz not always greener.” She toddled off to the kitchen with their cups and saucers.

“Use it wisely.” Nicholas said, returning with a huge dusty tomb of work and pressing it into Gellert’s hands, craning his neck upwards to do so. Both men assured him they would indeed, and agreed to a second round of coffees, but declined the invitation to stay for dinner. With stomachs full of cake and heads full of ideas, they turned back into the street, the taste of sweet, foreign air surrounding them, the sky now a lilac backdrop. A few giddy hours later, they sat opposite one another in a candlelit restaurant boasting local produce and fine wines. Albus had never felt so free, his responsibilities fading further with every sip of wine he took.

“Don’t tell me you have never thought about trying to make one” said Grindelwald.

“What would be the point of eternal life?” Albus replied. “To see your loved ones’ age and die, to not reunite on the same plain with them- you would have to have love to want to live that long. Even a great cause will shift its protagonists rapidly – it supersedes individual leadership. I think such a companion would be the only reason to want to carry on.”

Grindelwald leaned back in his chair slightly. “Love is common. Causes are rare.” He paused. “As is this steak. Is it meant to be? He took a bite. “It’s delicious.”

“Mmm” Albus said, realising too late he was staring at Gellerts mouth and not really listening. “How is your steak?”

“Delicious- I just said so. Weren’t you listening?” Gellert flicked his wand and instructed the wine to refill their goblets.

“My apologies.” Albus admonished himself for this distraction but couldn’t help the occasional glance at Gellert’s full bottom lip as it curled around the wine glass. They passed the rest of the meal regaling each other with philosophical debate, until Gellert arrived on a topic they had not broached before.

“You talk so much about love Albus, but as far as I know, you haven’t mentioned anyone special in the time I’ve known you.” Albus stiffened.

“There are other kinds of love Gellert, don’t be foolish.”

“Yes but, have you though? Been in love?”

“We’ve never talked about this before.” Albus said. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m sitting with my friend, drinking fine wine on a stolen evening in Paris neither of us thought we would have, and I want to spend it getting to know the delightful man opposite me.” Albus felt embarrassed at his hesitancy.

“No particular” -he paused- “person. There were crushes of course, youthful indiscretions –But I was Head Boy, and I soon learnt quickly how much of a favourite pastime it was for the school poltergeist to ‘interrupt’ night-time trysts.” His eyes flashed with something as they met Gellerts again, as if challenging him to mock this answer. Instead, Gellert leaned forward, intensifying the gaze.

“Give it time” He said, slowly. “And he’ll appear.”

Something guarded followed this statement in Albus’ body language as he clasped his goblet with thin, elongated fingers.

“He?” Albus’ tone had become colder.

“Ah.” Gellert lowered his gaze. “I am sorry Albus- forgive my presumptions”. Gellert said. He reached for his goblet too.

“No- I …” Albus sighed, and then said, quietly: “Is it that obvious.”

Gellerts tone softened. “Not to everyone”.

“But to you?” Albus looked up.

“Naturally to me.” Gellert fixed him with another stare “I had hoped we were alike.” This time, neither looked away for a while.

Albus said “I thought- that girl you sometimes mention.” Gellert shook his head.

“I have been with women. I don’t find myself naturally drawn to them.” He paused again. “They don’t…excite me.”

He held out his hand to Albus, and Albus, taking it, found himself rapidly recalculating their interactions the past month. The long glances, the hand touching. He had just thought Gellert was sort of…continental. But it seemed possible, even probable, given this latest revelation, that where he had convinced himself Gellert offered him only pity and politeness he done himself a significant disservice. The cogs seemed to slide into place and Albus, with a disarming twinkling of his bright eyes, pulled Grindelwald to his feet. The pair left the restaurant after only a minor protest over who was paying the bill resulting in a number of stubborn “No, me’s” and “please, after you’s”. They walked down the cobbled street towards the river hand in hand, both emboldened by the success of the day, the potential of the evening. It seemed for a moment the whole world lay at their feet, and the streets stayed quiet, allowing the exuberant men to light it up with laughter. Albus felt Gellert stroke his hand and this time he returned the intimacy. At the end of the street, Gellert pulled Albus close, and his eyes blazed with a fire Albus finally saw was for him.

“I told you I was attracted to power, Albus. It makes sense I would be attracted to you. I hoped you thought enough of yourself to see how extraordinary you are.” Albus gazed at Gellert, and he flushed, the tint in his cheeks matching the red tint in his hair. Being the taller of the pair, he bent his head a little as he said:

“I’m not sure I see what you see. But I feel…” he paused, for once unsure of how to express himself “…You excite me too.” The air separating the two men seemed to melt away as they gravitated toward each other, their arms enveloping, and Albus felt a thrill as he held the man’s warm, firm, muscular back. He felt seen. He tilted his head and Gellert curled a hand into his shoulder length locks, pulling his mouth towards his. Their tongues fought for dominance as the kiss deepened, and it awakened a fire in Albus’ stomach he had kept hidden and under control for many lonely months now. Gellerts need seemed to be rising too, for both men soon devolved the long kiss, interspersing it with grasping at each other’s clothing, pushing feverish hands under shirts, feeling skin on skin, and Albus could feel their waists come together as Gellert slipped a thigh between his, implanting the rigidity of his cock into Albus own crotch. Pressing closer still, Albus pulled a hand free from under Gellerts robes and placed it deliberately on the rising swell of Gellerts arse. Both men found themselves possessed with the ferality of untameable desire. Gellert pulled Albus hand away, roughly, and for a moment Albus paused, fearing he had crossed some unspoken line, but Gellert pulled him back into a kiss and in a low, guttural tone, said:

“I love the feel of your hands on me- but I want them…” He stroked his thumbs across Albus palm and he shuddered as Gellert brought his hand to the front of his body instead, placing the tips of his fingers so they dipped into his waistband. The cityscape of Paris sprawled beneath them, the warm breeze heightening their awareness of each other’s ragged breath.

“Merlin, yes. For a moment there I thought you were going to say this was going too fast and you wanted forty-five minutes of kissing.” Albus’ voice, Gellert realised, had become harsher, the lilting tonalities melted away in passion.

“The opposite. Definitely not”. Gellert said, still stroking Albus’ long, nervous fingers. Albus seemed to take courage from this and dipped a finger further below Gellerts waistband. Albus could feel the outline to his cock hard against his leg. He desperately wanted to know if it matched the few fantasises he had allowed himself to indulge in. He thumbed the area slowly, sensitively, sensuously. It clearly evoked something in Gellert because he tilted his head back and left out a small moan, and then began grasping at Albus with renewed vigour, digging his nails into his back. The image of Gellert full of lust for him, his eyes dark as coal fires, coming undone in a French backstreet he, Albus, had succeeded in making an illegal portkey to take the pair to: Albus found himself for the first time in his life to be successfully disarmed. He moved his free hand to his pocket, groping for his wand, successfully locating his actual wand instead. Hastily, he cast protective charms around them, warding them from muggle gaze, as well as a wandless barrier spell- just in case. For weeks they had they had unknowingly desired each other, and at the moment of discovery all teasing, trembling foreplay eluded them. Finding their passions returned, they were roused to an almost unbearable expectation of pleasure. But as Albus thrust their waists together once more and the time for possession came, it became clear that there was nothing tameable about the heat awakened in either man.

Both wanting to be swallowed up by the other, they pushed perspiring palms together in a fierce struggle for dominance. Albus simultaneously wanted to submit and win. He wanted that look of fierce attentiveness above him, pinning him, just as much as he wanted to do the same to Gellert, making his way down the thin trajectory of hair leading towards his erect prick with a mixture of tender kisses and playful, punishing scratch marks. Gellert wanted to suck Albus until his tongue was as swollen as his prick. It was Albus who eventually gave in, allowing Gellert to push his robes apart, forcing his back against stone, feeling more alive than he had felt in months. Gellert pinned his hands to his sides, leaned in and began trailing his tongue gracefully over the whorls of his inner ear. Albus became faintly aware that the high-pitched noise that had been faintly audible for the past few moments was in fact issuing from his own mouth. In frustrated response to his own display of wanton abandon, he freed his wrists from Gellert’s grasp with intuitive magic.One fluid motion and he slipped long, elegant fingers into Gellerts waistband and around the boastfully thick rigidity of his cock. Its flesh yielded to him as he manipulated the shaft with deft, quick fingers, and Gellert’s surprised whimper in response more than evened out what Albus had felt was an unequal amount of embarrassing noises. Gellerts entangled senses freed him for long enough to retaliate, opening Albus’ trousers to envelop his cock, which felt thinner and longer in his palm than his own. Its prominent tip urged forwards as Gellert squeezed his shaft through fabric. Albus ‘s eyes urged Gellert to take him. Gellert held the gaze. He conjured invisible manacles to pin Albus to the wall, allowing his hands to freely slide down the length of his body as he came to a stop kneeling in front of Albus. Albus bit his bottom lip. A warm breeze carried the tinny echoes of a laugh from the adjacent river below. When he looked down again, his trousers had been pushed roughly down and his cock was thrust out, thick and swollen into the night air. Gellert sucked him inside, imprisoning him, cock disappearing into his eager mouth. He felt the pad of Gellerts tongue flush against the thick vein that ran the length of the underside of his shaft. Thankful for the restraint as it eased the pressures of gravity, Albus found his legs were weak. He could feel a powerful, silent current between them, the air warping about their arousal. With grateful hunger they sank into each other, Gellert clutching his own prick with his fist. Albus’ silhouette arched its back against the navy sky, penetrating the kneeling figure with desperate rapidity.

“I’m close” Albus warned, succumbing to sensations that were thrilling and unnerving at the same time. The suction increased, the eager tip of his wet cock was welcomed by enveloping flesh over and over… his stomach muscles tightened, pulling his shoulders forwards as he unconsciously vanished the restraints Gellert had conjured, ejaculating a line of hot fluid which Gellert allowed to land about his face as he took Albus into his mouth again for a final, slow lick of that throbbing vein, squeezing from him the last semi-painful droplets. Now violently fisting his own cock, he chased release as he tasted Albus’ salty pleasure on his tongue, coming a few seconds later with a grateful moan.

The city propitious to lovers seemed to sigh as they came, and Albus felt a moment of wholeness so rare he felt a tear force its way to the back of his dry eyelids. It felt as if all of Paris were alight with the moans of lovers, in the shadows of archways, on the rivers meanders, in the cool retreats of cafes and terraces.

And he? What did Gellert feel? Albus felt suddenly self-conscious, as if an objective awareness of what they had done reclaimed him. Still breathing raggedly, he groped for his wand and cast some cursory cleaning charms. For once he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he offered his hand to the man on the ground and pulled him upwards, closer. Their chests heaved together in a synchronicity unmatched by the erratic beating of their hearts. They remained like that, in silence, for some time. Albus felt the imminence of their departure home. He was surprised to register he found none of the familiar rising nausea at this concept, rather, a docility had spread through his body, and he felt he could likely be taken anywhere at that moment without complaint. Gellert refastened his robes about his person and scowled at the darkening sky as if time were the greatest of all enemies. To lovers – and here Albus thought briefly of Nicholas and Perenelle-it probably was. He felt vulnerable, wrong-footed. Lovers. This evening had meant a great deal to him. He didn’t know what it meant to Gellert. Was it wrong to assume this was more than a lust-fuelled evening? The unexpected romance of it all, the stolen hours- had made it seem like a sentimental daydream. In reality, he reminded himself, he had essentially just got a blowjob in the middle of a dim alleyway from a man he had known for a little over a month. He drew upon his rational brain as he cautioned himself against his vulnerabilities. Sentiment had always been his greatest weakness.

“Well.” He cleared his throat a little, attempting to swallow his blossoming romantic notions with it. “That was dignified.”

Gellert half-snorted. “You know, I really expected you to say something profound.”

“I am usually ripe with trying to find ways to express my interpretation of the world, Gellert.” He drew his robes about him. “But currently I feel a chill around my privates and I don’t really think that’s anyway to discuss such matters”.

The pair dressed, with as much grace as they could muster, before Gellert offered his hand towards Albus once more and the pair took off towards the river.

“Bet the Greeks did.” Gellert said, casting an eye over a looming Hellenic statue.

“What?”

“The Greeks. I bet they didn’t mind discussing philosophy naked.”

“They definitely didn’t mind.” Albus replied. “That’s practically the entirety of Plato’s Symposium. I was shocked to find how much of it was about fucking young boys. That’s what our society is built on, you know. It’s at the core of Muggle philosophy.”

“You know I don’t read their literature, Albus.” Gellert said. “But the Ancient Greek Wizards were the same. They did invent a really good spell for managing to fit a…”

“I’m quite sure” - Albus interrupted - “That I do not want to know.”

He accio-ed the portkey before looking pointedly Gellert, who did not protest. He took the proffered arm and leaned in conspiratorially.

“If you ever do want to know, it was one of the first extra-curricular spells I taught myself.”

Albus opened his mouth to reply as the pair vanished into thin air, catching his laugh in the wind.

**Chapter 3**

The village was in darkness when they arrived, but the balmy heat had not dissipated. The men did not break apart as they landed, instead, they matched each other’s strides, clinging together, robes rippling in the barely perceptible breeze. Gellert planted a soft hand on the diamond of Albus’ lower back, lightly caressing the curve he found there as they strode on into the night. The cottages loomed: black blots on a mauve sky. Albus positioned himself as close to Gellert as possible, pressing the palms of his hands into Gellerts forearm.

“Come home with me” Gellert said. But Albus shook his head.

“I can’t.” He pressed himself closer still. “But if you will permit me, I would l like a proper goodbye.”

Against the stars that spread above them like a canopy, the two figures kissed. They parted by a milestone at a crossroads, and Albus found his feet dragged slowly as he walked towards the Dumbledore family home, now with fewer members than ever. It was a large stone cottage, broad and squat, as if it had perched itself amongst the trellises that rose around its contents. He found he was humming an untuneful rendition of Sailing, Sailing. As he crossed the threshold into a dimly lit kitchen with a large, open fireplace, Aberforth greeted him with a sly “Hello, stranger”.

Albus’ brother was perched on a wooden rocking chair that had been a favourite of their mothers.

“Hullo” Albus greeted him back. He could not help a genuine smile. Nothing could dampen his mood this evening - he felt invincible.

“You’re in a good mood I see” Aberforth continued. “Alright for some isn’t it, swanning around like a grand old mugwump. Bloody thanks for that bastard hex you threw on that fence. You know I just want to look at the animals, there’s naught harm in that.”

“You may do as you please, but you will suffer the consequences” Albus said. “You know full well you shouldn’t keep bothering them, I shouldn’t have to add incentives”.

Aberforth rolled his eyes. “You’re so quick to make the rules and so bad at following them yourself. Who made you the boss of everyone?” Albus didn’t respond. It was gut wrenchingly obvious to both boys why Albus was now the ‘boss of everyone’. Albus instead motioned a yawn with his hand.

“I’m going to say goodnight to Ariana.” Ariana was in her room, painting small stars onto a wooden picture frame. She told him about her day with Bathilda, and he told her something about his, neglecting to mention the impromptu trip to Paris, instead saying he had been particularly entranced by a flock of pixies living in the apple trees down by the water. They said their goodnights, and Albus, finding himself truly alone for the first time to process this momentous development to his world sphere, lit a candle with his wand to keep out the moths and perched on his bed. It was a creaky, heavy-framed thing, but he sighed into its familiar embrace nevertheless. A broad smile crossed his face.

He would sleep soon, but first he would recall the memories of his tryst, and before the flame burned itself to the wick, his body would remember too.

The early, magically amplified knock on the front door could only mean one visitor, and Albus put on his favourite slippers before shuffling to the door to greet her.

“Bathilda” he said. “Do come in”. Wordlessly, he instructed the copper kettle to boil its contents.

“Albus.” She will have brought a cake, he thought. She always brought a cake, even if he had seen her the previous day.

“I brought a cake.” She confirmed.

“Delightful, thank you.” He said graciously, for he had stopped adding “You shouldn’t have” at around the fourteenth cake, when it was obvious she clearly enjoyed doing this for others. Todays was a Marzipan-Pecan loaf. He set about instructing the tea sets and the plates to conduct themselves in a manner fitting of a well-practiced routine.

“I’m glad you’re here” he said. “I’ve saved these for you.” He brought out four neat newspaper clippings. “Witch Weekly had some enchanting new patterns I thought you might like.” She had taught him to knit when Albus was a boy, and though he no longer found the time, he liked to think of Bathilda every time he saw an unusually complex knitting pattern. As the pair ate and drank they exchanged comfortable village anecdotes.

“She’s a bit of a church bell, that one.” Bathilda continued, discussing a local gossip. Albus thought this was a little rich, as Bathilda was just as keen on regaling the latest developments of village life.

“She was saying that there was a bit of a kerfuffle at the Ministry yesterday afternoon, because apparently a portkey was detected in this area, but nobody had authorised one.”

“I see” said Albus. “Most unusual”.

“Isn’t it?” Bathilda took a sip of tea. “But then of course, Marjorie took it upon herself to tell them about the house down the way, how they’ve been causing too much noise, and how it bothers her terriers. Nasty little things they are to my Treacle, those two.”

Bathilda wrinkled her nose at the very concept of loving any animal besides her own. “Anyway, Marjorie told these two lads from the department of Magical Transportation and they went off to have a look at the house. Turns out they had been inviting muggles in on the premise they were selling the property and trying out all sort of transfiguration on them. Painless of course and they memory charmed them after, poor sods- but now there’s a whole investigation open because they found pictures of some of their less successful attempts. Imagine! Messing around with muggle transfiguration and illegal portkeys.” She shook her head. “Makes you absolutely die.”

Albus frowned. “So- why did they make the portkey?” Bathilda shook her head, clearly happy to have a new story to tell.

“No idea. Never struck me as clever enough, that pair.” Bathilda said. “But you can’t underestimate folk these days.” She reached for another slice of cake.

“So, you and my Gellert getting along still?”

Albus’ skin prickled with the same cold, nervous excitement that had followed him out of bed this morning.

“We’ve been getting on marvellously” he said, hiding his smile first in his beard, and then in his tea.

“I’m so glad to hear it.” She patted his knee. “Pop over later if you like and keep him out of trouble for me? I’ve got to go to a conference.”

She made a face of distaste before continuing: “I know you must miss having friends your own age, and I know village life must seem a little quiet after Hogwarts. But sometimes, a little bit of boredom is what’s best for the mind.”

“Oh, you know me. I’m happy to be here, Bathilda” He said.

Instead he thought of Gellert, of Paris, and of adventure.

Once they had packed up the tea things Albus toasted a loaf of bread for the others and set it out along with the cake and pots of sticky jam. He went back up to his room and had a cold shower before consciously checking his appearance. He smoothed some Sleekeazys into his hair. He chose to wear his best underpants only because they happened to be nearest the top of his wardrobe, he told himself.

He found Gellert in Bathilda’s back garden. Unusually for Gellert he wasn’t sporting robes; instead a fitted white shirt with rolled sleeves highlighted his tanned forearms as he raked the dry soil next to sprawls of wormwood and dittany.

Albus felt his body physically shiver at the sight of him. His palms itched. He moved forward feeling so present in his body he could notice the crunch of leaves beneath his soles. Perceptible changes in wind were tangible elemental storms. The short walk towards Gellert felt like minutes had passed where seconds had walked. His gaze dropped to Gellert’s moist, plump lips. Their peach flesh invited taste. He felt his cock twitch as he remembered them plundering his own. Gellert’s eyes similarly flashed black as Albus approached, his body delicately awoken by the sight of him. Their memories of the previous night were clear and sharp and insatiable.

“Crumpets?” Bathilda’s voice warbled from the kitchen.

“Wha-“ Albus’ voice choked in befuddlement.

“Yes please, Tante” Gellert shouted, to Albus’ relief.

“How are you getting on with the planting?” Albus said -rather lamely he felt, but at least he got a sentence out in the right order, which was frankly a miracle at this point. Gellert paused in his gardening, pulling a pouch out of the top pocket of his robes and grasping a pinch of tobacco as dry and brittle as the straw-like grass surrounding them and began to pack a small clay pipe.

“Yeah, not bad. The dittany needs pruning though.” Then, in a lower voice, he leaned towards Albus and whispered, “I wish I could greet you how I would like to.”

He laid a fleeting hand on the back of Albus’ thigh, and the second it rested there seemed to burn a hole through the material to send warm sensations throughout his body.

“And I you” Albus murmured, emboldened, and ran his own hand briefly beneath the hem of Gellerts shirt, letting a fingernail caress the base of his spine. Gellert could feel himself begin to rise in at this greeting and felt his cheeks flush. He turned back to the garden, hiding his arousal. When Bathilda returned with tea and crumpets, neither of the men could quite look each other in the eye and found themselves speaking in turn to her rather than to the other. When she finally left for her conference, telling the pair she would be back very late indeed, the men finally allowed their gaze to refocus.

Gellert reached automatically for Albus’ hand. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled him closer until they stood hip to hip, flush against each other. They found themselves overwhelmed with renewed undiscussed desire. Wordlessly, they simultaneously merged lips, and Albus felt Gellert press a sharp tooth into the edge of his lower lip, deliberately swiping his tongue across it’s captured flesh. Albus deepened the kiss, giving himself over to sensation readily, easily. This time there was no fight, no struggle for dominance. Albus submitted willingly. Giving into Gellert felt natural today. He snaked his arms up around Gellerts neck and shoulders, feeling his supple submission flood through him with the ease of release, relinquishing of all hesitance in the presence of Gellert. His body felt automatically his. He broke the kiss, and tried to communicate this comforting willingness, this erotic pliancy to Gellert.

“Whatever you want” he gasped. “I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable”.

“You’re – you’re sure.” Gellert said. He paused. “We haven’t spoken about” he gestured the air between them. “This.”

“I want you to have me.” He repeated. “I’ll tell you if I’m uncomfortable.” Gellert nodded, reclaiming Albus mouth before snaking the tip of his tongue along the hot skin of Albus neck, chin grazing beard as he finished the trail at the tip of his ear. Gellert pushed Albus legs apart with his own and ran a firm hand down his spine before leaving it to rest atop his lower thigh, squeezing hard, then running his hand up towards where his prick lay rapidly hardening. He palmed the engorged length from base to tip with a deliberate slowness. Albus thought his cock had never been this hard and heavy. Its weight was dragging his waistband forwards in its eagerness. He was holding Gellerts shirtsleeve, he realised. His other hand was gripping Gellerts shoulder, knuckles white. He released his fingernails guiltily from Gellerts shoulder where he had unknowingly sunk them.

“Don’t worry. I like it when you grab me like that.” In kind he assertively pressed a warm thigh to the tented front of Gellerts trousers. The pair set about testing the other’s boundaries, more playful with their explorations than the hasty magnetism of the previous day’s encounter. Albus felt the sensitive tip of his cock drag against fabric in a way that seemed to mourn the loss of bare skin. Gellerts coaxing fingers drew across it rapidly, just long enough for the brief reprise between intense sensation to solidify it further, coaxing it into drawing a small drop of precum. Albus’ consent to have Gellert take him gave rise to all manner of fantasies for Gellert, and his own cock was so furiously erect that its discharge seemed all too imminent to complete the erotic footage forming in his mind’s eye. Heady aromas of arousal surrounded the two.

Gellert broke apart from their fevered state and gestured to the top of the house. Albus nodded, and the pair made the short walk, gathering some of their senses. Albus had been in Gellert’s room before but had never previously had course to sit on the bed. Now he made a beeline for it. They each took their own clothes off with a sense of inevitable pleasure coursing through their pounding blood - this was the first time they would see each other naked. A private moment.

Gellert’s body was tough- lean and taught, thin skin over a rippling layer of muscle- the torso of a Hellenic icon. Albus felt for a moment self-conscious, aware of his boyish chest and paunch, but Gellert quietened any concerns he might have had with the singular assurance: “beautiful”.

They moved like one into each other’s embrace again and twined serpentine about the other. Gellert was stretching Albus, readying him. Albus felt as if his brain had become nothing but want and wanton abandon. Soon his is body was their body was the body. Thrusts and sweat and mere minutes later inside, a flood of warm fluid.

Gellert pulled himself from Albus and his body mourned the loss. Sticky thighs fell open once more as Gellert replaced his cock with his fingers: dextrous enough to press solidly into the muscular cavern they elicited his orgasm from him with urgent momentum. They lay together, bereft of stimulus, feeling their nudity settle into them like a recurrent dream. Soft breathing as chests sighed with repletion. The sun-drenched trees shared their rays with them, dappling the sheets, casting dancing beams over their naked forms. Gellert put an arm around Albus and he curled into it, the scent of overripe fruit surrounding them.

“You know that if we were caught as muggles, we would go to prison for this.” Gellert said.

“I know” Albus said.

“How can you not hate them for that? Truly?” Albus didn’t respond for a while, for it was indeed hard not to hate them for that. He weighed up his answer. “I get angry a lot. I am angry with them. I often find myself angry with muggle laws, muggle reason. But the worst kind of barbarities are not singular- they’re institutional. Just like the boys who attacked my sister… they’re a product of failures that are not their own. When I can, I choose to see the good.”

“I don’t think I can.” Gellert said. “There’s too much to overcome. Persecution, persecution, that’s all they carve their lives around. Their history is made from the persecution of others. Wizards are at least blessed with the option of separatism.”

They both fell silent, thinking of all the other couples laying together, fearing for their lives, until Albus broke the lull.

“In the wizarding world right now in Britain, it’s not accepted. It’s tolerated.”

“Yes, but it makes sense for us to care about our lineage – no children, no pureblood line.” Gellert propped himself up. “Don’t you want a family eventually?”

“I… don’t think I’m very good with children.” Albus said regretfully, folding himself back into Gellerts embrace.

The pair woke to the door closing downstairs. They had drifted off in the heat, sated in each other’s arms, and now rose in horror to discover they were only a few minutes away from finding out in person just how tolerant the most celebrated magical historian of the day would be upon discovering their affections.

“The door-” Albus said, and Gellert grabbed his wand and locked it, putting up a sound privacy barrier. The pair dressed in an ungainly fashion, both reddening at the familiar feeling of rising guilt, like naughty schoolchildren caught out of bed. Neither seemed eager to fill Bathilda in on this current development of their friendship.

“Gellert are you upstairs?” Bathilda called. “Did you have a nice time with Albus?” Albus groaned. She thought he had left. He glanced at the sky. He supposed it was a little late for a friendly visit, but not unheard of. He made a decision, gesturing at Gellert not to respond.

“Err – I’m still here actually, Bathilda.” He called. “Sorry- Gellert and I got caught up in some research.”

“Hello dear! That’s quite alright… shall I bring you up some supper? I should think you would be needing to get back for the others soon though.”

Finally dressed he headed downstairs, feeling reduced by ten years to the young boy who once accidently spilled mandrake growth fertiliser on one of her centuries old manuscripts.

“That’s quite alright, I should be going as you say. Must check on the others. My apologies for distracting Gellert from the Garden for so long.”

“Not at all - I’m just glad he’s got someone to bore besides myself with his theories. I’ve had more than enough wild speculation on goblin security studies of all things today. Why they keep inviting me to these conferences I don’t know.” She sighed. “Anyway- you don’t want to hear what Phineas Black thinks passes as a suitable anecdote to share with a room full of magical creature experts on such an occasion.”

Albus thought that he very much did want to hear about that and was nearing saying so when he stopped himself and reminded himself of his responsibilities. He drew his cloak around him and said his goodbyes- a kiss on the cheek for Bathilda, a reserved nod to Gellert as he emerged behind him, hair a little rumpled but otherwise suspiciously neat. Albus suspected a charm of some sort.

It was only as he stepped into the night air and felt an unfamiliar chill about his waist that he realised the front of his trousers had remained unbuttoned the entire time.

**Chapter 4**

When Albus got home, Aberforth was waiting again. Steeling himself for the inevitable conflict, he made a polite greeting and apology before asking if he and his sister had been alright without him today.

“And you care now, do you?” Aberforth said, with no attempt at social niceties. Albus sighed.

“I apologise for staying out too long. I was with Gellert- we- I- didn’t realise how late it was.”

“How do you not notice the sky? It’s pitch black. Or has Bathilda got some sort of permanent sun-charm on her windows?”

“I have already apologised. You and Ariana have been alright, haven’t you? There is no harm done. You can fetch your own supper once in a while, it won’t hurt you.” He hung his cloak up with a sigh, bracing himself for the onslaught.

“Right well, whilst you’re gallivanting around setting the wizarding world to rights with your big ideas and your big head, Ariana has been on her own most of the day. She’s going through this too, Albus.” He winced but stayed silent as Aberforth continued. “You’re not actually helping anyone, you know. I know you think you are, but you’re not. You want to make the whole world better, but you can’t even look after your siblings. You’re a rubbish brother. I’m sorry we’re not as exciting as your dangerous new friend. Do you even know what he was expelled for? There’s a reason he’s in the middle of nowhere too. He’s being punished. But that’s no reason to start acting like you are too.”

Albus wanted to cry. There was some truth to what Aberforth said, but he couldn’t see past the insult at Gellert.

“I can only do so much, Aberforth. If I was around all the time, you would lecture me for being too overbearing. If I’m out all day, I’m too absent. I’m sorry. I’m not them.”

“Well not that you care, but Arianna was _crying_ earlier. So maybe next time it would be good if you were around to check on her. You know she can’t be left alone when she’s emotional.” Albus bit his lip and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I will go and check on her now, and I will be around more from now on. I’ll be here all day tomorrow. I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Gellert. I don’t want you to think I’m avoiding you both.”

He made his way upstairs to check on Ariana, already selfishly regretting the promise he had made. Ariana was sitting on her bed with a thin linen sheet pulled over her pale knees.

“Hi” She said.

“Hullo.” He said.

“I don’t like it when you argue with Abe.”

“I don’t much like it either.” He crossed the room to perch on the side of her bed. Was she thinner? He didn’t know. How could he recall every line of Gellerts muscular back and barely recognise the shifts in his own household?

“You were out a long time.” She picked at the sheet.

“Sorry.”

“With Gellert.” She looked at him. “Your friend.”

“Yes, he’s been a good friend to me recently.” He didn’t meet her gaze and instead picked up a small tin soldier she had been making an indoor sandcastle for.

“That’s a lot of sand, Ari. How did it get indoors?”

“Abe helped me, with a wheel-marrow. It’s a muggle thing for carrying.”

“Ah.” He said. “I see. Is this going to be where the soldier lives?”

“Yes, but not on his own. He has all his friends living there too, so he isn’t lonely.”

“Are you feeling lonely?” He internally kicked himself for asking. “No, I’ve got all my friends here too.”

She pointed at the soldiers, a moth-eaten bear, the framed portrait of their parents, from which both gave a benign wave. She looked at him again, with her unusually perceptive blue eyes.

“Are you feeling lonely?”

“Not anymore.” He gave her a one-armed hug and pointed at all her toys: “Because I’m going to make friends with your friends too, tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to play with your real friend?”

“I’m going to play whatever you want to play, all day.” She smiled at him, and as he made his way to his own room, he found he was feeling less regret about his decision to stay in tomorrow. Aberforth was right. He had been getting carried away. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t think about Gellert. He could still indulge his foolish romantic notions.

After all, Albus liked keeping secrets.

Tomorrow dawned, bringing with it the same unrelenting heat, and a large, tawny owl on his bedside table. “Hoo” Said the owl. “Hoo. Hoo.” And it held out a slender leg. Albus took the parchment, still bleary eyed, and conjured some treats for the bird. It gave a grateful peck at his pyjamas before flying off.

_Albus-_

_I can’t help but feel bereft, for my bed feels empty this morning. Return to it immediately._

_If that alone cannot entice, it will please you to know that Nicholas’ books have proved fruitful. Cadmus Peverell we assume to be the stones’ original owner- the woman it seems likely he had a child with was linked to a coven in Devon known to experiment with alchemy. Perhaps the stone itself originated there? I always assumed it had to be igneous, more ancient – more magical. But perhaps that is my mistake- the weathering of the earth is after all, far more linked to the processes of life and death._

_Yours, Gellert._

He read and re-read the note. He didn’t much care about Devon or Cadmus Peverell. He cared that Gellert had for the first time signed the note with ‘Yours’ as opposed to “My Best”.

It seemed insignificant, but it carried him through the day, buoyant throughout his playtime with Ariana. He not only finished the sandcastle for the soldiers, he completed it with a permanent sticking charm on the sand, creating a solid structure she could paint. He merely smiled when Aberforth told him his robes fitted him about as well as the suit of a tractor-driver kitted up for a distant cousins wedding. He gave a grateful wave to the disgruntled muggle on the milk-cart that passed through their lane.

‘Yours’ Elevated his mood, his gait, his ability to cope.

It was late afternoon by the time Albus realised he had not actually responded to the owl. He dashed back upstairs. It was fine of course, Gellert could wait half a day. Still, he felt a little guilty for not immediately bestowing some of his good mood on the man who had made it so.

‘My Dear Gellert,’ He wrote. Then crossed it out.

_Gellert,_

_You will have your bed to yourself today - I felt I ought to spend some time at home to avoid another argument with Aberforth at the very least._

_The Devon link sounds like an intriguing discovery- certainly worth investigating. Are there any records of where exactly the coven met?_

_Regarding sedimentary stone - like you I felt that the stone itself may have been an archetypal igneous formation, but the microscopic fibrous nature of certain sedimentary gems could also provide a crystal system ripe for alchemical alteration._

_Let me know if you smell baking. It means Bathilda popping over here. She may be able to look after the siblings whilst we research._

_I’m not sure if I mean research._

_Yours, Albus._

Smiling to himself, he rolled up the scroll and summoned the tawny owl, who had been patiently perched in an ageing oak tree opposite the house.

It was another two days before Bathilda brought a cake over. Albus knew he could go and see Gellert but his guilt and his siblings had kept him more than occupied. Transfiguration used to be his speciality, now it seemed to be fixing broken objects- a gate, a fence, a portion of sandcastle wall, a candelabra Aberforth had taken a dislike to. It was a relief when the familiar magnified knock came.

Albus was sure she hadn’t realised about his prior state of undress with Gellert. And if she had, she was far too English to address it.

“Hello dear! I’ve brought a cake.”

“How wonderful, thank you.” Albus took the proffered cake tin. “How are you? Gellert keeps complaining because you haven’t popped over the past couple of days. Honestly! A grown man and he’s sulking. I think you’ve made a real impression on him.”

Albus was certain that he had, and that it probably currently took the form of some long scratches on his lower back.

“But he is always trying to get me to dig up something or other from the library. Whatever you two are planning it better not involve any more books pre-twelfth-century. I had accepted their fate as slowly mouldering in my old pantry forevermore until all this research.”

Albus chuckled. “We’ll try and keep the research to a minimum strain on your pantry, Bathilda.”

Although, he thought, she really should clean it out. The state of the manuscripts was not an exaggeration.

“He keeps going on about Devon now. Do I have any friends in Devon? Do I know anyone he can stay with? Quite why he wants to spend time down there I’ve simply no idea. It’s not too far from the sea here.”

Albus felt a twinge of unease. Was Gellert planning to start investigating in Devon without him? And - for a long period of time? A time period that warranted residence apparently. He had stopped listening to Bathilda.

“…I thought perhaps you might want to visit – I’m more than happy to check on the other’s here for you whilst you do. I’ve taken a liking to one of those knitting patterns you know, from last week.”

Right. Naturally he would like to visit. And make sure Gellert wasn’t leaving him.

Not that they were together.

Not that he would mind if he did want to go to Devon of course.

Not that he was bothered either way.

Bathilda was staring at him, waiting for a response.

“Oh- of course. I mean yes. Certainly, I would like to see him. We can’t have him moping about all over the place. Are you sure you’re alright here?”

“Absolutely!” She motioned to open the front door and waved her wand. Seconds later, a half-finished jumper, needles still clacking, whizzed towards her with a small earless cat not far behind, chasing it as it flew.

“Oh love, you didn’t have to come too!” Bathilda told the cat reproachfully. “Meow.” It said.

“It’s fine honestly, I’m sure Ariana will love this addition.” Said Albus, now doubly thankful for the permanent sticking charm on their newly fashioned castle. They finished their familiar routine. Once alone in his room he nervously went over and over in his mind the many different ways Gellert would tell him he was leaving and rehearsed at least fifteen responses that he thought were calm, measured and reasonable.

Which was of course, fine.

**Chapter 5**

At Bathilda’s door he told himself just how fine it was again. He told himself again as Gellert swept him up into an embrace he was thankful the milk-cart driver, late today, missed. He told himself as Gellert told him about his plans for Devon. He told himself it right up until the point Gellert fixed him with a stern gaze and said:

“What’s the matter? Can you not come?”

Albus let out the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “What? Oh! No… no it’s not that-although, when did you say this was? You know I will have to check with Bathilda.”

“I just said I already did, for next week” He said. “She said it would be lovely for us to get away, and that she had a friend, Sylvia, with a holiday home in Devon that’s left empty most of the year. Didn’t she tell you?”

Albus blinked and shook his head.

“Not…exactly. I think she probably thought it better as a surprise and wanted you to tell me.”

"And…?”

“And it’s wonderful, and I’m so looking forward to it.” And he was. Although it was slightly overshadowed by the relief of realising Gellert wasn’t leaving him.

“I think she secretly suspects more to our friendship, but she’d never say. She made this big point about how sorry she was there was only one bedroom, but we could transfigure the bed ‘into two of course’ that was entirely unnecessary.”

“She’s just glad you have a friend. I think she thinks you’ll ruin her library if left alone for too long.”

“Yes well, it’s not like I could make it worse is it.” Gellert admonished with a laugh. He rested a hand on Albus thigh and squeezed. “I’m going to show you this research into Devonshire coves, then I’m going to make us dinner.”

“How domestic.”

“Oh, do shut up.” Later Gellert did indeed cook him dinner. Potato and vegetables pan roasted and lightly seasoned and “all from the garden”. It was simple and delicious, and he told Gellert so, who responded:

“You know potatoes were once thought to be an aphrodisiac? I read it in J. Montgomery’s Lust amongst the Lichen: A Herbologists guide to Successful Relationships.”

Albus snorted into his vegetables, before saying with feigned indignation “I do hope this isn’t an attempt at flirtation.”

“What you should be asking is why that particular textbook remains pristine in my great-aunt’s kitchen whilst rare village Cenci imperative to our research moulders away in her pantry.” Gellert said darkly, stabbing a potato with force.

“I think she’s an old romantic, really.” Albus said. And he did.

“I don’t think I would remain a romantic if I had read as many ghastly accounts of gruesome beheadings as she has.”

“Do you think of yourself as a romantic then?” Asked Albus, intrigued. It was hard to tell with the light fading, but Gellert definitely blushed.

“I think I’m idealistic.”

“Yes well, I think that’s been readily established.” Albus said.

“I’m not sure I’ve had enough experience with romance to know whether I am or not. But I’m trying to learn to be.” He swept the dinner things away with a wave of his wand, replacing them with tall candles, emitting a soft pearlescent glow. “Right now, as it happens.”

The light cast their faces into dancing shadows, playing at making smiles.

“I can’t believe this is the man my brother is afraid of.”

“He’s afraid of me?” It had been the wrong thing to say. He backtracked.

“In a way he’s afraid of everyone.”

“You’re not afraid, though.”

“Of you?” Albus raised an eyebrow. “Never.”

“I think I’m a bit afraid of you.” Gellert said, pulling Albus towards his lap, motioning him to sit.

“Oh yes?”

“Afraid of what you do to me.” He ran a hand down Albus’ shoulder to his waist. Albus ran a gentle hand through Gellerts loose, blonde locks.

“I imagine you can look after yourself. One hears things.”

Gellert smiled, drawing Albus face closer, and said in a near-whisper: “You can do that harder you know. I don’t mind hair-pulling.”

And he kissed him. Flushed and red mouthed, Albus leaned into the kiss, experimentally tugging Gellert’s hair. The seated man let out a guttural moan and spread his legs as wide as the chair would allow. As he shifted his weight he felt the swell of Gellert’s hardening prick. Sex suddenly seemed inevitable and Albus found himself wanting to draw out Gellert’s pleasure. They had been so furious previously – now they had time. With a smile Albus withdrew from Gellert’s embrace, sliding off his lap. He stood over him and drew his wand.

“Stay there.” Albus instructed. Gellert nodded. “You will permit me some…additions.” Gellert nodded again, the tent in his trousers ridged like warped iron.

“Anything I do you can undo at any time wordlessly. Which is useful, because I rather think your mouth will be occupied.”

With that he moved his wand through the air, and a thin golden twine flowed from the end like water. It wrapped its way around Gellert’s ankles and the sturdy wooden legs of the chair, it wove in and out of his wrists, encircled his collarbones, pinning him. Almost as an afterthought, he wove a tendril about Gellert’s mouth, encouraging the opening of his jaw.

“This may be a touch…inelegant.” Albus said, and promptly vanished Gellerts robes.

Gellert looked enchanting; his supple, handsome body mapped with the loops of gold cord as soft as it was strong. His pliant mouth was wet and watering, held open, his cock ramrod straight, straining towards his tanned stomach. Albus felt he could come over this image alone and immediately told himself that he should make it his life’s aim to own a pensieve. “So eager for me?” He took off his outer robes with as much decorum as he could muster. As he turned his eyes back to the delectable feast in front of him, he sank to his knees. Gellerts eyes widened and then closed, communicating the approval his mouth was unable to. Albus licked a thin stripe up one ankle. Gellert felt the meandering lingering of its trail heighten his arousal. He knew he was in for a torturous treat. Albus did the same again, this time to his inner thigh, stopping just before he reached cock, playing with his tongue in the crook of Gellert’s crotch. Gellert tried fruitlessly to shift forward.

“Accio Oil” Albus murmured. He could have done the spell wandless, but much more fun to let Gellert know.

He poured some of the viscous liquid into his palm, heating it slightly. He then returned to Gellert, achingly slowly massaging the oil into his thick, quivering thighs. Gellert was giving him a fierce look. Upon finishing his administrations to his thighs, he carved a new trail with his tongue and oiled hands, pinching a nipple his hands fluttered over, gently blowing on the hot oil as it sank into Gellert’s skin, renewing pathways of sensation. Reaching Gellerts mouth, Albus inserted his fingers with a thrusting motion, and Gellert sucked willingly, the tang of oil and sweat filling him. Albus felt Gellert’s readiness with a thrill that went straight to his groin, envisioning his cock in place of his fingers. He pulled away and sank back to his knees, back in front of Gellert’s reddened prick, the tip weeping with eagerness. He moved one oiled hand to fondle the swollen sack beneath, and the other to address the leaking head. He could see the roll of Gellert’s flat stomach muscles contract. He ignored his own pressing erection, assuring himself he would pleasure himself to these memories many times over in the weeks to come.

Gellert found his ragged breath caught in his throat. He felt lightheaded, his bound limbs anchoring his mounting eruption- but the delicious administrations his cock had been privy to stopped as Albus leaned back, instead tracing a finger over Gellerts hole, now dripping with excess oils and saliva. He pressed until he felt the give of supple muscle. Returning his mouth, he sucked Gellert’s cock as he felt his body all but suck his fingers inside. He built up a rhythm, hot wet slick movements, engulfing Gellert with sensations it was impossible to ignore. As Albus’ fingers pressed into his prostate he felt his orgasm ready to tear through him. Apparently Albus did too, because he abruptly stopped, removed his fingers, wiped them on his trousers and stepped back, like a painter observing his portrait. Gellert was flushed, his skin sticky with sweat, his tanned body wrapped with lines of gold and oil. He looked desperately undone.

Albus was flush with pride. He then fully undressed himself, turning his back to Gellert, revealing the pale, plump globes of his arse as he slipped off his undergarments.

“You know” he said, “Hogwarts’ Library really does have a bizarre selection of books for a school. You can find a lot of things if you look hard enough. For example- “He waved his wand and turned back to Gellert- “A really excellent charm for preparing oneself for penetration.”

Gellert motioned with his hand and the tendrils of gold holding his mouth were gone.

“I can’t… I won’t last” He said weakly.

Albus just smiled a mischievous smile and straddled him. Wrapping an arm about his shoulder, he positioned Gellerts cock at his slick entrance. Maddeningly slowly, he sank on top of him and began to ride, pulling him into a deep kiss as he did so. Gellert was overcome with the intensity of Albus’ pulsating internal walls, the feel of his erection caught between their bodies. He could stand it no longer. Gellert freed himself from his bonds. With one fluid movement, he pushed Albus into the adjacent wall as he rose from the chair, turned him around and slid into him again, this time moving freely, pounding into him up against the wall, biting clamping teeth into his shoulder as he came. It was long earned, but left him powerfully bereft as he shuddered there, pulling his softening cock out of Albus, feeling ashamed he barely had the muscle strength to offer Albus full completion. This didn’t prove to be a problem however, for when he turned around, Gellert noticed Albus’ stomach – and part of the floral wallpaper – was covered in semen. Gellert moved to pull on his clothes and found he didn’t actually want to. The scratch of wool was too much for his sensitivities.

“Shower?” He said instead. Albus nodded. 

Before they traipsed upstairs, Gellert pulled him close, murmuring “Thank you”. Albus’ eyes twinkled disconcertingly. He chuckled.

“You grow more English by the day, now look at you, thanking people for sex.”

Gellert smiled. “You know what I mean.”

Albus smiled. He did.

They showered and dressed, and fortunately remembered to scour the wallpaper in preparation for Bathilda’s return. Albus even remembered to do up his trousers this time.

**Chapter 6**

After murmured affections that seemed like a dream, Albus headed home, the night air cooling his desires, breathing into him an unfiltered clarity of purpose. The short walk between their two households was a change of worlds. His comfort levels altered, each home promising a security he felt unable to commit to.

He knew he shouldn’t get used to his furious passions with Gellert. That there was no way his second life could accommodate it.

They would not end up playing happy families. Tonight, it wasn’t just sex. It was trust. It was…more. He felt a twinge of discomfort, both physical and emotional, run through him. He was a little sore after all.

Back at the house he relieved Bathilda – her knitting now a fully resplendent finished product in mauve- and said goodnight to the others, avoiding the lingering gaze of Aberforth. He found himself needing comfort- he wished he could have stayed with Gellert, and a creeping resentment about the secrecy of it all engulfed him.

“If you’re not happy with something, say so”. Bathilda’s voice nagged in his head. And then, another voice, that of his late mothers: “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but much more to stand up to your friends.” He sighed.

Perhaps he should confront the issue head-on: it was becoming clear that his friendship with Gellert was much more than he had initially expected. But sex was one thing- a relationship quite another. Was it too much to ask for? More importantly: was it too much to ask of himself? He wasn’t sure there was an ideal scenario. Gellert after all would leave at some point. He, meanwhile, would stay, because he must. He unfurled Gellerts letter, tracing the signature with a thin fingertip. He had an idyllic life here. An easy life. A life of quiet, and care, and contemplation. He could read all the books he wished, and they had money enough.

Aberforth was right- he was selfish. He wanted more for himself. He was restless. It wasn’t even the isolation – Gellert hadn’t rescued him from loneliness after all, he was quite content in his own company.

It was the promise of adventure and of purpose: the feeling that together, they really could change things for the greater good.

He sighed, undressing, allaying his fears with comforting memories of skin on skin and of cavernous, warm mouths. He slept fitfully in the heat but chose not to cast a cooling charm. The prickling he felt on his rising skin matched his prickling mood. The next morning, far from the contentment he expected after an evening of blissful sex, he woke still feeling disgruntled.

He made a mental note to avoid Aberforth, for today he would struggle to keep his calm, measured exterior in check if an argument arose. He brought Ariana a breakfast tray before taking a walk to clear his head. They would go to Devon together, but that seemed to be the full extent of Albus’ certainties for his and Gellert’s ‘relationship’. Back at the house he succumbed to the urge to share his concerns.

_Gellert,_

_I never returned my own gratitude for last night. Dinner was more delicious than expected._

_I am sincerely looking forward to our approaching trip. Do let me know how the cove mapping is coming along._

He paused. How should one espouse concern for a relationship that didn’t technically exist?

_I have enjoyed immensely how close we have become this summer._

_However, I fear that if our trip is successful, it will instigate a new adventure which I will not be able to accompany you on. Perhaps I too am guilty of a romantic countenance, but this has been weighing on my mind. I must ask in advance that despite my growing attachment to our arrangement that you do not expect too much of me._

_I shall see you on Tuesday._

_Yours, Albus._

He paused. Was that fair? To Gellert, to himself? He didn’t know. It wasn’t an easy choice. It was however, what he felt was right.

Perhaps Gellert would think nothing of leaving him when the time came, and Albus resolved to bear that prospect with a stoicism that hid his vulnerable heart. It was a few hours later that his Owl was returned.

_Albus,_

_I have planned everything for Devon with great care._

_I am hopeful it will bring new leads in locating the stone, and as you suspect, perhaps a further trip. If you are suggesting that I will accept that we must part, I ask you to reconsider._

_You cannot pretend with me: it is nothing but guilt that holds you here, your ambition lies elsewhere._

_Putting our friendship aside, I will simply not allow you to do yourself this disservice._

_Yours, Gellert._

The owl however, and the letter, were not in his possession. Aberforth, who had finished reading, held the parchment, hands quivering with rage.

“And that’s what he thinks is it- that’s how he thinks of us? Just a burden on your talents? And who do you think gave him that impression? You selfish, pompous arse! Because your disabled sister and your wayward brother are just such an inconvenience! I will not be reduced to a side character in the pathetic melodrama of Albus AND HIS WOEFULLY INEPT SIBLINGS!”

“It’s not like that at all.” Albus said, simultaneously wary that Aberforth had caught him in a vulnerable moment and furious that he would invade his privacy like this.

“Right so what is it like? Don’t pretend you don’t want the _handsome_ Gellert Grindelwald to sweep you off your feet and as far away from us as possible! That’s _literally what he says!”_

He now began a rather cruel impression of Albus as a swooning damsel in distress.

“Aberforth.” Albus said. “Stop.”

“No! No, you know what, I don’t think I will. I knew you felt like this and now, now he’s fucking confirmed it! What, you didn’t think there would be any consequences to your little fantasy? That’s all you bang on about! Do this and suffer the consequences. Well, now there are consequences, and they’re me, and they’re _her_.” He gestured at the house.

“I told Gellert not to expect me to be able to accompany him. That’s all I said. He’s just upset I can’t go, that’s all. No need to take his disappointment out on me, it’s punishment enough.” His measured tone was wavering. His rage was bubbling under the surface. It didn’t matter that what Aberforth was saying was extremely understandable for an angry teenager who had lost his parents looking for someone to blame. Not to mention a little bit true.

Aberforth had read his letter from Gellert. _His letter_. From _Gellert_. It could have said anything.

It didn’t matter that nothing explicit was shared- it was the fact it could have been, that his secrets could be in the hands of this explosive, volatile child.

“Now listen here.” Albus said, and a quiet fury marked his words. “Firstly, choosing to remain here, is both a choice and an obligation. But it is not an obligation to you. Or to Ariana. I want you both to be very happy and I fear that I am poorly equipped to make it so. My remaining here is my obligation to Mother. It has absolutely nothing- nothing- to do with what you may or may not want. Insulting my friend, insinuating - go ahead. Your comic talents might be worth investing in, seeing as you have little else going for you in terms of ambition. Do not dare to treat my desire for more than a herd of goats with such contempt.”

The two brothers stood facing each other in the cottage’s walled garden like sentries flagging the entrance. Both were gripping their wands. Albus burned with the repressed emotion of a decade of self-condemnation.

It was a noise from inside the house that jolted the immobile figures into action- both exchanged guilty glances, pocketed their wands and ran to check on their sister.

Ariana had somehow managed to explode her castle and was sniffling on her bed, the remains scattered about. The boys swallowed their animosity for her sake, and the trio spent the rest of the evening making an even grander castle, that would “Rival even Hogwarts” Albus assured her.

Their uneasy truce however wasn’t sustainable, and Albus was grateful for the approaching escape to Devon, albeit apprehensive about his future with Gellert.

**Chapter 7**

The morning of their departure dawned. Gellert owled ahead- and thankfully this one was not intercepted- and told Albus to meet him at a milestone on the outskirts of the village. From there they apparated to the nearest town, and from there to the nearest city. They caught a connecting train before changing to the Dart Valley Railway, skirting the coasts of south Devon, the river running alongside, canal boats visible.

They spent the train ride discussing their mutual dislike of Quidditch and their mutual fondness for making up alternative Daily Prophet headlines. Their silences were companionable, yet they seemed to highlight the conversation topic neither man was eager to broach. Only once they had reached their temporary residence in the charming village of Crapstone (a name both found amusing) did the pair broach the subject.

“About my letter” Albus began.

“I should apologise for how I responded.” Gellert said. “When you didn’t reply… I knew I had overstepped.”

“In fact, didn’t respond for an alternate reason.” Albus explained, and he detailed the events of Aberforth’s interception and the subsequent emotions It wrought. He sighed. “So, you see, I’m at an impasse. I cannot help but think that despite my resolve to stay, they would be happier without me. But my sister does need someone, and Aberforth is irresponsible enough with his own wellbeing.”

Gellert frowned. “I know I may have overstepped, but I meant what I said. I want you to come with me when I must depart, and I don’t want you to do it for me. I want you to come for yourself. I know you want to.”

Albus just stared into the distance, feeling as if all air had been knocked out of him. Here he was, having everything he wanted offered to him. And here he was worrying about the future and forgetting to enjoy the present. He resolved to put these concerns aside for the duration of their trip.

“I’m going to do what’s best for me.” He assured Gellert “I just need to figure out what that is. So – show me where these coves are.”

Gellert looked sceptical, but a firm glance at Albus told him the subject was closed. He unpacked his textbooks and a peeling map held together with charms so old they matched the parchment it was painted on.

“Here” he said, pointing to similarly indistinguishable marks along what Albus assumed to be coast. “And here… see?”

Albus didn’t see. They spent that first evening going over the evidence in large, dusty tomes.

Studying together, both felt overwhelmed with the enormity of their undertaking. They were on a treasure hunt for a needle in a haystack. One small stone. An entire county. An entire country. Possibly the globe, for they had no solid evidence the resurrection stone remained on English soil.

The comfort they had was each other. They revelled in the privacy their new location afforded them, unabashedly sinking into the chintz sofa together, draping limbs over one another with easy comfort.

That night, they shared not only their bodies but a bed as well.

Each man slept as soundly as they had ever done.

When the next day dawned, their investigation commenced. They apparated in and out of lime scaled walls dripping with stalactites, waves crashing about them. Gellert created a web of detection spells searching for trace magic, and Albus siphoned off the traces he deemed too recent to count for much. They were looking for a single magical signature- centuries old- but powerful enough that one would remain. They were seeking magic as old as the runes they hoped would accompany such a discovery. It took hours.

Their tasks grew increasingly bizarre: stand here and shout until you can hear an echo, tap this wall seven times, test that cave painting for magic beneath it, float pebbles to enter cracks in the surrounding stone. It would all have felt very pointless and frustrating had Albus not been much more invested in spending time watching Gellert work than the actual results.

His sleeves were rolled up, a look of sincere devotion and concentration on his face. Barks of frustration were occasionally let out, but he was never diverted from his goal. His intricate uses of magic, his focus, the power emanating from the other man- Albus found these strangely erotic, and more than once impeded their progress because of it. The third night, Albus confessed this to Gellert.

“You find it erotic watching me work?” Gellert furrowed his brow. “But- forgive me as you know I find you alluring constantly – but I’m hardly paying attention to you then.”

“Perhaps it’s because you are not.” Albus said. “I think I enjoy seeing you so utterly caught up in something. It makes me feel more special knowing that later, that same attention will be mine.”

“Oh?” Gellert said. “And what will you do with it when you have it?”

Their embrace was calm and fluid. It was gentler, less exploratory. They moved as if they wanted to cling on to what they knew of each other, to commit whorls of ears and fingers to memory, to draw each tender passionate embrace from the other like music. It was warm and passionate and familiar all at once. Hips pressed together in a slow, slick grind, their bodies tangled into one another. Lips met in full, open kisses.

Gellert pushed Albus’ pliant thighs apart, trailing soft caresses from neck to navel. The intrusion was exploratory and as strong fingers broached him, Albus arched up, greeting their presence inside him with soft gasps.

Albus had the sudden realisation that they were making love.

It lasted longer than their previous encounters because it was interspersed with the minutia of a couple familiarising themselves with their lovers most vulnerable state. Affection seemed to drip from their pores as they were swept up into each other. When they were both sated and kisses had been traced on the arches of backs, and soft murmurings had been spoken into damp tendrils of hair splayed saint-like on the soft bedding, Albus felt complete and bereft simultaneously.

He felt as though Gellert and he lay cast in resin, shielded from a world that would too soon penetrate their bliss.

The next day, they found something.

In one of the less promising coves they uncovered runes hidden by a significant web of spells. After great examination, Gellert assured him that they were indeed carved by the coven they were seeking.

“It’s not… exactly as I pictured it.” Gellert said, grimacing.

The pair were balanced on a makeshift ladder of collected sea-matter they had formed to reach a higher cave wall, all shells and eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Albus said. “I must tell Nicholas about this place. It’s delightful for retirement.”

Precariously, they copied the runes to parchment, and took few rock samples for good measure. A good shower, a cup of tea each and some warming charms later, Gellert sat in front of the bay window of their little residence translating the runes. Albus found himself pacing up and down nervously. As happy as he was to have found a lead, he fiercely hoped the meaning of the runic translation would not warrant an overseas trip.

Gellert slammed the book down triumphantly.

“This is going to warrant an overseas trip.”

Albus let out a string of expletives he was sorely glad nobody but Gellert witnessed. Gellert looked up in mild surprise.

“Don’t you want to know what it says?” Albus looked down his long nose at Gellert, frowning.

“It says you have to leave. And it says I have to make a choice that we both knew was coming. It says I have to disappoint someone.”

“Okay, but look here- it also says…”

“Stop.” Albus shook his head. “I’m not ready to hear it.”

And he left the room, eyes itching with the strain of ensuring no tears leaked out.

**Chapter 8**

“So you see, the coven created a temporal gap. The runes keep the place of the stone. The stone, once taken, therefore lives in two places at once- you see? Like the dead do. It had two forms- these runes preserve that! It’s clever, don’t you think?”

They were on the train home, Albus morosely staring out the window. Gellert was chattering animatedly, attempting to convince him to accompany him on their new adventure.

“I see. Ingenious.” Albus said, pushing a pair of spectacles further up the bridge of his nose.

“But it’s what we wanted- its progress! Albus, I know you want this too.” He fixed him with a firm stare. “Honestly, will you please stop moping. Everyone has to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

“That’s easier to say than to do, Gellert.” Albus said. “I’m still torn. I have resolved to discuss the matter with Bathilda in hopes she will have some impartial advice. Of course, if I were to leave, she would have to help with Ariana. I am asking too much of people.”

“Albus, asking too much of people is how progress is made.” The pair fell back into silence.

After a few minutes, Gellert reached for his hand.

“Alright. I didn’t want to ask like this, but I will.” He turned Albus’ palm upwards, stroking it, meeting his startlingly blue eyes. “Albus. Will you please come with me– not just as comrades-in-arms – but as my partner?”

Albus drew in his breath. Across the aisle, a little old lady in horn rimmed glasses frowned at their clasped hands and began tutting.

He was overwhelmed.

To be offered something so unattainable. To be offered it in such a manner that he must relinquish a promise to his mother to do so.

To be offered exactly, exactly what he wanted to hear was too much. He withdrew his hand and folded it across his chest, as if trying to protect his heart.

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“You refuse me?” Gellert said, quieter. “I’m not refusing you. I’m refusing to be manipulated.”

“It’s not manipulation. It’s how I feel. I feel very strongly I want to do this, and I want to do this with you.”

He glanced at the tutting woman and raised his voice so as to be audible to the rest of the carriage. “And to be clear, I’m talking about being in a relationship with you, not just travelling.”

Albus cleared his throat. “Yes, I think you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“So?”

“So, don’t expect me to throw myself at you for increasing the difficulty of my position” said Albus, exasperated.

What was it Gellert wasn’t understanding? Albus supposed it seemed simple to him. He had nobody that relied upon him, that was the difference. Nobody to look after. Albus was tired of looking after people. If he went with Gellert, wouldn’t he just be worrying about Gellert’s safety all the time instead of his sisters? He gave too much of himself in love.

Love seemed cruel –its excesses turned cloying, stifling. He felt trapped.

Gellert’s stolen kisses and handsome face as they left the train were not the comfort they had once been as the imminence of Gellert’s departure and his crucial decision weighed over him. They passed much of their journey home in silence.

In the coming week, Albus busied himself about the house, re-establishing routine, determined to make the most of his time. He set up a study for himself in a room whose previous sole purpose seemed to be to house laundry. He put an extendable charm on Ariana’s room, and made plans for something of an indoor garden.

One evening, he invited Bathilda over, bypassing Gellert, who he was sure was growing frustrated with Albus’ lack of a solid confirmation or refusal. She bustled in with fig rolls, telling Albus about her exploits whilst they had been away, and of Gellert’s bad mood since they had returned.

“Did something happen, Albus?” She said shrewdly, clacking her tongue. “You’ve heard of course- he wants to leave for Nepal soon. I imagine it is upsetting, having to say goodbye, I know how close you have become.”

Albus hoped sincerely she didn’t know quite how close they had become.

“I would indeed be sorry to see him go.” A pause. “In actual fact, he wants metocomewithhim.”

“Sorry?” Albus had spoken the last part into his tea.

“He wants me. I mean he wants me to come with him.”

“As a” She paused. “Travel companion?”

“Exactly” Albus confirmed. “As a travel companion.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“You know, you are the first person to ask me how I feel about it, instead of assuming how I feel.”

Bathilda sighed. “It’s important to know your own mind and motivations above all else, Albus. Remember that.”

“I shall. Well.” He said carefully: “I felt initially thrilled at the suggestion. I love his…company. Gellert is offering me a huge opportunity, something I would benefit from immensely. But I also felt no excitement upon being asked, only commiseration knowing that I could not go. I have duties here, and here is where I told him I resolved to stay.” He looked up, wavering. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Bathilda looked at him, her large features curling into a sympathetic countenance. “I think it’s your decision to make. If you want to go, I think you know I would offer my help here.” She patted his arm kindly.

“I think you know deep down that we would manage without you. But you’re still telling yourself it’s impossible to leave. All I would say is, decide for yourself, not for others. Don’t worry about what Gellert and Aberforth or even Ariana or I want. When I was young, I didn’t know a thing about magical history. I wanted to be a Herbologist. I realised too late that my ambition actually stemmed from my father. I think he wanted me to be a Herbologist even more than I did. Always in the garden he was, always telling me this or that about some rare pustule. Anyway, one day, after, I might add, a three year-apprenticeship – I told him I changed my mind. I was so scared, I built it all up in my head. And he was disappointed, of course. But he was supportive. The people who matter always will be. You have to accept that in life, you’re going to disappoint people, and you can’t let it eat away at you.”

They polished off the last few crumbs from their plates, before Albus said, “Thank you. I don’t think I thank you enough.”

“You do plenty.” Bathilda said. “You certainly keep Gellert happy.”

Albus wasn’t so sure he would remain so.

He sent the owl off to Gellert the next morning. When he got no response, he went to sit with Aberforth, and explain his decision.

The following morning, Albus rose to the sight of Gellert marching towards the house from the lane looking more than a little unhinged. He was turning from the window to dress when he saw Aberforth was stringing up what looked like small paper lanterns in the garden.

He blanched, instantly fearful that the pair would meet without him. He hurried to locate his robes. All too soon, the muffled but distinguishable sound of raised voices rose up the stairs. Albus hurried, practically throwing himself down them and out into the stifling heat of the sun. As he blinked, the glare blinding him, the red dots in his eyelids slowly morphed into the silhouettes of Gellert and Aberforth, wands drawn on opposite sides of the lawn, a mirror of where he and Aberforth had stood only a week ago.

“Just go!” Aberforth was shouting, his fist clenched as if preparing to throw down the wand and simply punch Gellert squarely on the jaw.

“Not without him” Gellert said. “You don’t own him! He doesn’t belong here with you at all!”

“You’re just using him!” Aberforth shouted at Gellert. “You’re just using him to make you things, get you places.”

Albus felt his own insecurities echoed in his brothers’ voice. But he had aired these to Gellert himself. He knew why Gellert was interested in him, and it was more than that. But it wasn’t something he could explain to an angry teenager.

Aberforth continued - “Do you think I’m stupid? I know it was him that made the portkey! Muttering about it to himself he was! You just want him to be your…don’t think I don’t know you’re an Invert!”

Albus felt his face grow pale. Perhaps Aberforth was more perceptive than he gave him credit for.

“And you’re _dragging him down_!” Gellert yelled. “Every day he writes me, saying he can’t do this, can’t do that, all because his little brother needs _Nannying_!”

“I can look after myself! It’s Ariana he needs to be here for!”

Albus strode out onto the lawn, eyes blazing.

“Quiet, both of you! “Albus glared at them both. “Do _not_ speak for me.”

He turned his glittering blue eyes on first his brother, then his lover. He was torn between two worlds, between the familial and the romantic.

He was furious with both.

Bathilda was right. He could still do anything. He didn’t have to be a perpetual pseudo-parent, or a philosophical political player in a new world.

He could be anything. He could become a _teacher_ for all they knew. He opened his mouth to respond.

Behind the group, the summer sun burnt red like a Phoenix. It had been too hot for too long.

The air prickled with tension.

A storm was coming.


End file.
